


O Christmas Tree

by PhantomFlutist



Category: VIXX
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Gen, Weird POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 11:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8978272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomFlutist/pseuds/PhantomFlutist
Summary: She brightens the whole room, and they brighten her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of (hopefully) three Christmas ficlets, to be posted over the next three days. I know this is weird, but hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway. I hope everyone has a really really good holiday, even if they don't celebrate Christmas!

 

_[**Prompt:** ](http://minds-in-bloom.com/20-christmas-writing-prompts/)Personify your Christmas tree. Write a story from the Christmas tree’s point of view._

 

They’re finally getting her out again. For the past eleven months, she’s been stuffed into the back of a dusty, over-crowded closet next to a mountain of hats, several pairs of fishnet stockings, and something that she really hopes is not actually a riding crop.

But finally, after waiting patiently in the dark for so long, the door opens and the hats are shoved carefully aside and she’s pulled from behind the line of bags that marches across the front of the closet.

“Was it always this small?” one of her humans asks, his long, thin hands gripping her box tightly and turning it from side to side. His dark hair is flopping in his eyes. And he has the gall to insult _her_ appearance.

Another of her humans comes over and he also gets handsy with her box, reaching for the bottom and lifting her with ease. His bare forearms bulge with striated muscles, offering a striking contrast to the soft gray sweater that’s pushed up to his elbows. “It’s just a tree, Hyuk-ah,” he insists.

They set her down on the floor of the living room, over near the wide window that looks out over the city’s skyline. She loves the view from here, even if it does look a little strange when she’s lying down like this.

“Do we have any lights that work?” the oldest human asks. He sits on the sofa with a tangled ball of string lights in his hands, staring at it as if that will cause it to function. More lights are strewn around him, covering his lap and slung around his shoulders like a gaudy blanket. One string is half lit, a few solitary blue bulbs twinkling merrily at him.

“Aren’t those the old ones?” a softer voice asks. That’s the other oldest, she thinks. She’s most fond of him, because he often sits in quiet company with her, just the two of them and the soft hum of the music in his headphones. He never listens to holiday music, but she doesn’t mind. His melodies are always lovely anyway, often soft and gentle and loving.

There’s yelling, and then her other two humans stumble into the room, laughing and clinging to each other, each with a steaming mug in his hand. One’s hair is still light, not quite blond but close, as though he dyed it and then allowed it to grow.

Finally someone deigns to open her box, lifts her out and slides her feet into place. They stand her near the window, in the corner next to the sofa. It’s nice here, especially as they all crowd around her. Working lights are found and strung along her branches. Small baubles and candy canes are hung as well, except for one that goes into the light-haired one’s mouth, to a distressed cry of “Hyung!” from one of the others.

They put her crown on last, sliding it into place on her topmost branch, star-shaped and sparkling. Dressed up like this, she finally feels like the queen that she is.

They all stand about, arms wrapped around each other, and admire her for a time. Few words are said, even when the quiet one attempts to squirm away and is trapped by strong arms in a gray sweater. He ends up hunched down, face pressed into soft gray wool, eyes filled with twinkling lights.

Someone starts humming a carol. It is not ‘O Christmas Tree’, but it is one that she likes, so she allows it to continue as five other voices join in. Even the one with the low voice sings, and she shivers with delight as his deep timbre washes over her with the others.

When the song is over, someone suggests drinks. Cider and coffee is procured, and then they sit together with the lights dimmed, talking and laughing and still admiring her, even as they mill about and laugh and press their heads together.

She brightens the whole room, and they brighten her. She loves this give and take, and the last eleven months of solitude are worth it all when she watches the oldest wrap his arms around the young one’s head and squeeze, when she hears the quiet one speak of happy memories together, when she sees the light-haired one press a kiss to the back of another’s neck when he thinks he won’t be caught.

They need her, if only for this one month out of the whole year. They need the togetherness and love that she represents. She is happy to be that for them, whatever the cost.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://phantomflutist.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/PhantomFlutist) Come say hi!


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